


Slow Clouds

by Cowardly Lion (Catsmeow)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 14:05:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12533248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsmeow/pseuds/Cowardly%20Lion
Summary: Living in Washington D.C., far from his team, is getting to General O'Neill.





	Slow Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> The inserts between sections are from the poem "Spring" by Richard Hovey. Set after Season 10 SG-1, and Season 5 or later SGA. Written May 2011

_“I said in my heart, “I am sick of four walls and a ceiling._  
_I have need of the sky._  
_I have business with the grass.”_

As he left the building, General Jack O’Neill nodded to the doorman then lowered his head to keep the wind from whipping off his hat. March was going out like a lion and a cold, wet lion at that. It spit out one last soggy snowfall completely disrupting the D.C. traffic as usual before settling into a routine of bluster and overcast. So far, the dreary, windy weather had stretched out for two weeks with no signs of abating. Blue skies had been replaced by an endless parade of heavy, grey clouds scudding aloft on the wind. It seemed like winter was never going to end. 

The sun wouldn’t be up for another hour and would have set long before he left work. The only time he got see the outdoors these days was through his office window. The landscaping around his condominium didn’t count. Too structured. Too formal. He’d have made different choices for the plantings if he’d had any say. But he didn’t. That was one of the drawbacks of renting a condo versus buying a house. Overall, though, he didn’t regret his choice. Why bother investing in a house when he would only be here a few years?

Nearing his truck, Jack pulled his keys from coat pocket, fumbled, and dropped them into the bushes lining the parking lot. They fell into the last remaining patch of snow, sheltered under the boxwood. As he plucked out the keys, the light from the parking lot caught something else. Leaning closer, he saw a trio of crocuses - or would that be crocusi? He’d have to ask Daniel next time they talked. Or Carter. Her scientific background made her good with Greek and Latin root words. However the plural was pronounced, the deep purple flowers and green leaves stood out against the white of the snow and Jack smiled at the sight. Spring was finally arriving. 

_“I will up and get me away where the hawk is wheeling,_  
_Lone and high,_  
_And the slow clouds go by.”_

As harbingers go, the crocus were usually more reliable. It was almost three weeks before Jack felt that Winter had finally given way to a reluctant Spring. Crisp air and clear blue skies tempted him but he didn’t have time to outside and sit in the warm sun the way others were. There was no such thing as a slow day at the Pentagon and Jack had places to be.

While the same could be said of Cheyenne Mountain, neither NORAD nor the SGC could lay claim to a food court or a shopping mall. The Pentagon even had its own stop on the Metro line, for crying out line. Jack quickened his stride to pass a pair of civilian women holding shopping bags. With over 23,000 employees, the Pentagon had a higher population than some of the towns he had lived in. The only good thing about all the bustle was that the harsh sound of his footfalls blended into the hub-bub, becoming part of the background. 

So many things Jack couldn’t get used to, even after all this time. Like the hard soled shoes of his dress uniform. The spec ops part of him cringed as he gave away his position with every step. Or clearance levels ranging from basic to top secret rubbing elbows with a public shopping center absolutely anyone could access. Granted there were security checkpoints, but still. Once you’ve gone to work in the super secret sub-basement of a secret project, any other security arrangement pales in comparison. Artificial light. Okay, sure, the SGC had nothing but artificial light. Couldn’t exactly put in windows that far underground. But at least there he got to go through the gate from time to time and bathe in the light of alien suns. 

Here, he caught glimpses through his office window. When he had time. And remembered to look. The jonquils and daffodils had come and mostly gone. The tulips still lingered in large numbers and bright yellow sprays of forsythia stood out wherever they grew. Pale green buds on trees and shrubs presaged the return of the leaves, except for the redbud trees which were covered in pink flowers before getting their dark green heart-shaped leaves.

Weaving his way through pedestrian traffic, he decided to alter his routine of hitting the treadmill at the PAC before heading for home. Four Mile Run wasn’t far, though the maze of highways between here and there meant he’d have to drive to it and that would add to the overall time the task would take. Jack flipped through his schedule in his head. Estimated how much earlier he’d need to leave to fit in a jog at Four Mile. Checked the schedule again. His shoulders slumped. Okay. Athletic Center was still the winner. He wondered how Carter handled the change to indoor-only living now that she was on Atlantis and was glad he didn’t have to deal with it. D.C. was bad enough. He’d have been stir crazy before the first month was out if he’d gone to Atlantis.

_“I will get me away to the waters that glass_  
_The clouds as they pass,_  
_To the waters that lie_  
_Like the heart of a maiden aware of a doom drawing nigh_  
_And dumb for sorcery of impending joy.”_

Major Clarkson was right up there with Major Davis when it came to people that Jack depended on. She kept him on schedule, kept the paperwork flowing smoothly, and let him know which way the political winds were blowing. She was, hands down, the best aide he’d ever had.

Today, she actually had good news. Usually, a schedule change meant a lot of juggling as a new meeting was crammed into an already full schedule or an existing meeting suddenly changed time or day conflicting with another which had to be rescheduled and ran the risk of conflicting with another in its new time slot and so on.

This time, a last minute cancellation meant that Jack had an extra thirty minutes and right before lunch time, too. Instead of eating a sandwich at his desk, he could actually relax and enjoy his meal. He looked out the window at blue sky dotted with small, white clouds and thick green foliage. The last of the early spring flowers had faded, replaced by colorful hydrangeas, rhododendrons, and fragrant lilacs. The lilacs would fade, but the others would last through early summer if not longer. 

He thought about heading over to Teddy Roosevelt Island, a sanctuary of green sitting in the middle of the Potomac River north of the Tidal Basin. As close as the park was to the Pentagon, the D.C. traffic made the trip slow and frustrating. The last time he had tried going there at lunch, his vehicle had been one of many in a long line inching through the entrance into the quickly filling parking lot. Office workers in business clothes clutching bag lunches mixed with groups of stay at home parents picnicking with small children. There were people sitting on all the benches, along retaining walls, on stairs, and all over the lawn.

He had wasted fifteen minutes trying to find a secluded spot, somewhere peaceful and alone, before giving up. He managed to get away from the regular thud of car doors slamming so that was something. He didn’t mind the sound of kids running around having fun, either. The constant ringing of cell phones, loud voices talking shop, the clicking of non-stop texting -those he could do without. Once you’ve been one of the only four people on an unpopulated planet hiking through virgin forest your definition of “quiet” changes drastically.

At first he had watched the clouds scudding across the sky and the way the trees ruffled in the breeze. He started watching the birds and squirrels working the crowd for crumbs and handouts then found himself watching the people instead. Some barely looked around, concentrating on their food. One woman never raised her head from her cell phone, fingers flicking spider-quick, deeply intent on some unspoken conversation. Jack had wondered why she even bothered coming. Suddenly disgusted, he downed the other half of his sandwich as fast as he could as he made his way back to the truck. He hadn’t been back during the week since then. 

As he recalled the experience, he could hear Daniel’s voice in his mind, telling him to quit bitching about the negatives and focus on the positives and he smiled as he envisioned the look that would go with it. Then the fact that he had to imagine Daniel’s scolding instead of hearing it in person hit him like a splash of cold water and his smile faded. 

As he left his office in the E-ring and headed down to the food court, Jack tried to convince himself that dragging his take out order to the central courtyard was a good second choice. It was a half-hearted effort at best. Even he didn’t believe him.

_“I will get me away to the woods._  
_Spring, like a huntsman’s boy,_  
_Halloos along the hillsides and unhoods_  
_The falcon in my will.”_

Two decades ago, there would have been a thick layer of cigarette smoke hanging in the room. One decade ago, Jack would have been contributing to it. Thirty seven hours into the latest crisis he was thinking seriously of restarting a bad habit if only to give his hands purpose. Waiting had never been his style. Pacing the war room listening to an op go down instead of being in the front line leading the team was his idea of Hell.

Outside, summer was beating down on D.C. like a blast furnace. No, that wasn’t quite right. That analogy didn’t account for the sky-high humidity. Maybe steam furnace would be a better equivalent. Whatever. Jack had never been so glad of central air conditioning. 

Despite the constant cycling, the HVAC system couldn’t take the stale mechanical smell from the air. As a bonus, all that air movement dried out his eyes, leaving them itchy. The muted lighting was intended to make the video displays stand out more and reduce eye-strain. All it did was give the windowless room a subterranean feel. Hushed voices murmured updates, revised strategies, planned for contingencies and waited for the next update on a situation half a continent and several solar systems away. 

His right hand ached from clenching into a gun hold. He shook it, flexing the fingers to ease the strain, and caught Commander Welkins watching him. Bud flashed him a wry grin. Unlike most of the others in the room who spent most of their careers at a desk, Bud was a former SEAL and knew how Jack felt. Having a kindred spirit made these joint ops more bearable. Well, less irritating at any rate. 

Jack checked his watch even though local time and elapsed mission time were displayed in numbers as big as his head on the main screen. Movement, no matter how inconsequential, was soothing. He’d been called into the office at oh-three-thirty when SG-12’s capture had first been confirmed and hadn’t been home since. He’d showered here, shaved here, and thanks to Major Clarkson, had been able to change into a clean uniform from the skin out. Twice. 

He had leave coming up next month. Leave he fully intended to take this time. He couldn’t abide much more of this. The cabin was calling and with any luck he wouldn’t be there alone. The only question was who would join him. Carter was in another galaxy, so unless there was some drastic change in policy at Atlantis, she was out of the running. Teal’c had been seconded to the diplomatic delegation to the Jaffa for the time being, so he would be unavailable as well. Hopefully Daniel would be able to make it. It had been way too long since they’d been able to snatch more than a few words of non-work-related conversation and even longer since they’d been in the same state at the same time.

Of course, Daniel, being Daniel, would try to guilt him into inviting the FNGs, Mitchell and Mal Doran. Jack, being Jack, wouldn’t fall for it. He wanted to relax not talk shop or hand hold or mentor or whatever it was his vacation would turn into. He wanted to hike the woods around the cabin. He wanted to take the skiff out fishing on the lake. He wanted to grill steaks and drink beer. Sit on the dock watching the loons, slapping at mosquitoes, and telling stories of the good old days to someone who knew the tales as well as he did.

Landry’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. Hank’s face filled the large center monitor, looking as exhausted as Jack felt. Pushing thoughts of the cabin aside, Jack joined the others gathered to hear the latest from the SGC.

_“The dogwood calls me, and the sudden thrill_  
_That breaks in apple blooms down country roads_  
_Plucks me by the sleeve and nudges me away._  
_The sap is in the boles to-day,”_

The odometer of the rented F-150 clicked over another mile, a reverse count-down to the refuge of the cabin. Jack should have been here hours ago. He had actually managed to get out of the Pentagon when he meant to. He’d even made his flight without getting called back. Severe weather across the Midwest had caused his flight to be diverted. More intense than the usual late summer thunderheads, the storms grounded air traffic for hours and made finishing the trip a challenge. 

The last he’d heard, Daniel probably wouldn’t make it. Some off-world situation was blowing up and needed both his language and his diplomacy skills. It wasn’t bad enough to warrant Jack’s presence as head of Homeworld Security and hopefully Daniel’s touch would keep it that way.

He turned off the paved road. The dirt road had been graded recently and was smoother than Jack had expected. Almost there. He passed the Gibson’s place, then the Millers. Almost there. His place was at the tail end of the road. Muscles in his neck and shoulders loosened up. He hadn’t been aware of the residual tension until it eased.

He pulled around the last turn. There was a car in front of the cabin. Daniel must have been able to make it after all. He threw the truck in park and the man himself stepped out onto the porch. Jack’s jaw relaxed into the first genuine smile he’d had since leaving the SGC a lifetime ago. Daniel returned it, hands in pockets, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet and Jack’s heart unclenched, too. 

Finally, he was home.

Finis


End file.
